


Haply May Forget

by Femme (femmequixotic)



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, snaco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-03
Updated: 2008-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femmequixotic/pseuds/Femme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his lover's death, Snape seeks comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haply May Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Written for sharp_tongue who dared me to write Snape/McGonagall smut.

_I shall not see the shadows,  
I shall not feel the the rain;  
I shall not hear the nightingale  
Sing on, as if in pain.  
And dreaming through the twilight  
That doth not rise nor set  
Haply I may remember  
And haply may forget.  
\--"Song", Christina Rossetti_

The door opened the third time Snape pounded upon it.

Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway, her loose hair a grey aurora in the dim light from the room behind her, looking utterly unsurprised to see Hogwarts' Potions master and Head of Slytherin House standing before her, far closer to being three sheets to the wind than was appropriate.

Snape bit back a snort. Of course she was far from astonished. Since childhood he had managed to find himself knocking upon this very door at the darkest hours of his life. And after tonight's Order meeting...he grimaced, barely aware of the tiny wobble his body made. Once more he found himself standing before the Head of Gryffindor House, in search of what he knew not.

Bloody damn irritating, if you asked him.

McGonagall pulled her burgundy dressing gown tighter around her and raised a thin-arched eyebrow. "Severus. Rather late for a visit, is it not?"

Snape drained the dregs of scotch from the glass clutched in his white-knuckled fist and thrust it towards her. "I am in the process of getting thoroughly rat-arsed, Minerva and I find myself rather distressingly out of liquor." He tapped a long finger against the bottom-heavy highball in his hand. "As I recall you've quite the stash hidden in your larder." He matched her raised eyebrow with one of his own. "If I may intrude?"

The deputy headmistress stepped back, waving him into her quarters. He strode in, ignoring the slight stumble he made over the edge of the faded crimson Aubusson covering the glassy polished walnut floor of the sitting room, and dropped down into an overstuffed chair upholstered in the most god-awful scarlet toile he had ever laid eyes upon.

It was his favourite seat in the small room.

Snape leaned his head against the chair back, his thumb stroking the cool side of the glass in his hand, and sighed in relief as McGonagall appeared before him, a tall bottle of amber liquid in her hand.

He pushed thick locks of greasy hair back from his forehead and raised his glass. "Glenlivet?"

"Macallan," she said, tipping the bottle of scotch over his glass. "Eighteen-year."

He watched the golden ambrosia slosh down the etched antique crystal. "I'm not about to commit suicide, Minerva. No need to pull out the special reserves. I merely want to get pissed "

"Well, you're well on your way," McGonagall said tartly. She settled into the chair opposite him, poured a smaller shot for herself and knocked it back.

Snape smirked.

"A true Scotswoman," he drawled, taking a long draught from his own glass.  
McGonagall tilted her head to one side and smiled at him. "Which is why you find yourself at my door this eve."

Snape frowned down at his scotch, swirling the liquid slowly with one long finger. "Among other things."

"I see."

Snape refused to look up at the quiet statement. "He's dead." Flat. Unemotional. Monotone. A cold numbness radiated from his gut.

A long pause. "Yes."

The silence stretched out between them. Snape drained his glass and motioned for more. McGonagall filled it without question.

He swallowed half the glass in one gulp, slumped back into the chair, his knees spread wide. "I told him he was a bloody fool." His mouth tightened, his fingers clenched the glass. "Albus should never have asked him to spy. He was only a boy."

McGonagall poured more scotch for both. "As were you twenty years past. Barely out of my Transfiguration class, if I recall correctly."

"I was nineteen," he said, raising the glass to his lips. "Old enough to recognise the danger I was accepting."

"As was young Draco," McGonagall said gently.

He flinched at the name.

"You cared for him." The deputy headmistress set down her glass, leaning forward. She placed a hand on Snape's knee, ignoring his attempt to pull away. "I saw it in your eyes tonight. When Albus told the Order about..." She dropped her gaze, drew back her hand.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. The numb ache grew, surpassing the comforting warmth of the scotch. "There are times in which I loathe that man," he murmured.

"And Dra--" She caught herself at the look of pained rage he sent her. A sad smile twisted her lips. "That is all I needed to know." She sighed. "I'm sorry, Severus."

"He was my student."

She snorted and took a sip of her scotch. "I am far from casting stones on that account, Mr. Snape."

He gave her a tiny, reluctant smirk at the childhood address.

"Nor am I willing to believe he was merely your student." McGonagall shook her head. "After all you were mine."

He said nothing, instead reaching for the bottle of scotch and topping off his glass.

She stood, took the glass from his cold hand. "Enough," she said gently, setting the glass on the small, ebony-inlaid table next to the chair. "You're here for something other than scotch, Severus."

Snape looked blankly at her. "He's dead," he repeated. It was the only response he could think of.

McGonagall touched his cheek, brushed a stray lock of limp hair back behind his ear. "Come with me."

He stood, wobbling just the slightest bit, and followed her into the bedroom, tugging at his cravat and dropping it upon the floor. His waistcoat followed.

McGonagall touched a small wall sconce; a soft rose-gold light filled the small room, warming the worn mahogany of the bed, the heavy gold velvet hangings. She turned to face him.

"You're certain?"

He sighed and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. "Am I not always?"

She slid out of her dressing gown and gave him a tight half-smile. "You're a bloody poof, Severus." She pulled her flannel nightgown over her head. "Forgive me if it seems a bit odd that on occasion you find yourself in my bed."

Snape eyed her, taking in her still-slender waist, the curve of her white breasts, the precise triangle of greying hair at the juncture of her thighs. He shrugged out of his shirt, reached for the waistband of his trousers. "I want it different," he said, not meeting her eyes. "I'd rather not remem-" He broke off, pushing his trousers down his thighs.

She kissed him, pulling his naked body against hers. "I know."

Snape shivered as she ran cool fingers down his concave chest, over the narrow planes of his stomach. Her hand closed around his flaccid cock and he stiffened for the briefest of moments before relaxing into the touch. Her thumb slid down the underside of his shaft; she looked at him with gentle eyes glinting from behind her spectacles. Snape fought the urge to laugh wildly. He'd seen that very expression before. There were times he was certain the woman spent far too much time around the headmaster.

And then he frowned. Albus was truly the last person he'd prefer to consider at the moment.

Irritated, he pulled the spectacles from her face and tossed them on the bedside table. "Shall we?" he asked, his voice more petulant than he intended.

McGonagall pulled him onto the soft mattress with her, her tongue tracing a light path across his bare shoulder. His stomach twisted. Dra--the boy had loved to kiss him like that, to taste the salty sweat of his skin before opening up beneath him...

He jerked away, rising up on his knees.

McGonagall looked up at him, those far-too-knowing eyes seeing past his actions. "I'm sorry--"

He stopped her with a kiss, his mouth moving roughly against hers, his hands turning her onto her stomach, pulling her to her knees. His fingers slid over her mound, tangling in the coarse curls. He rubbed slowly across her slick skin, allowing her to move his fingers, circle them over the tiny knob of her clitoris. So different, he thought. So different and yet so similar. His fingers tugged at the swollen nub, flicking it gently as she moaned.

Her hand caught his, pressing his fingers more firmly against her as her hips moved in rhythm to his caress. "Like that," McGonagall whispered in her soft brogue, her breath catching. "Harder." She laughed. "I daresay I won't break."

He snorted against her shoulder, bit at the curve of her neck. She smelled of lilac water and Earl Grey. "I must admit that particular thought never caused me pause." He pinched her clit hard, slippery fingers sliding ineptly across her warm skin, a ragged fingernail catching on a tiny fold. She hissed and tensed.

"My apologies," he murmured.

She cast a baleful look over her shoulder. "Bit more care, if you don't mind."  
He pressed into her, his other hand sliding down her back, across the slight flare of her hip. She shifted against him as his thumb traced lazy circles through the damp creases at her thigh.

"Feels good," he said. A statement, rather than a question. She nodded, a soft moan escaping her throat as his finger slid through her wet folds. He stroked her slit, fingers pulling a bit too hard at the unfamiliar folds and flaps of engorged skin. A quick dip of his fingertip into her and she sighed softly.   
"I'm ready, Severus," she said, rubbing her arse up against him.

He grunted, reaching down and stroking his half-erect cock with sticky fingers, pulling and squeezing, his eyes closed, his thoughts converging on the vision of a slender boy arched beneath him, pale gold and flushed ivory. His hand jerked roughly against his heated skin; his thumb swept against the dry swell of his head.

He winced.

"Severus, are you going--"

"Do shut it, Minerva." He opened his eyes to see her looking back over her bare shoulder at him, a frown on her face. "These things take time."

"Not that long," she retorted, her voice sharp. "Either fuck me or go on back to your own chambers and leave me be."

Snape's lips thinned and he grabbed her hips, digging his fingernails into the soft fleshy curves. "Bugger it." He shoved into her, his thick cock pushing through creases of soft skin.

She gasped, her back arching as a cat's, her hips bumping sharply against his as she took him deeper. "Better," she choked out, circling her arse most delightfully against the crisp dark curls at his groin.

He moaned and pulled back from her wet warmth. She thrust up against him again, her body undulating against his. Snape leaned forward, his mouth moving across her shoulder blade as pressed back into her slowly.

Her body was different from the boy's. Wetter. Smoother. Curved where his was angular. Soft where his was hard. Snape slid one hand over the round sweep of one pendulous breast, his fingers catching the hard nub of her nipple. McGonagall writhed beneath him, hissing as he pinched lightly, his fingernail scraping across the sensitive skin.

"Damn it..."

He bit her shoulder, pulled her back up against him so that she straddled his thighs. "Such language for a Head of House, Minerva," he murmured into her ear, his fingers still kneading her breast. "What would your students say?"

She choked out a strangled laugh. "I rather doubt it would be my language that horrified them at this precise moment, Severus." She lifted up, squeezing herself tightly around Snape's cock before sliding back down with a damp slurp. Snape gasped as a sharp tingle of arousal shot through his scotch-numbed nervous system.

"Bloody hell."

He needed to fuck. He needed to feel something. Anything beside this bloody damn ache.

He shoved McGonagall forward, grabbing at the headboard as he thrust into her, his sharp hipbones bruising the pale skin of her arse. She caught herself against the pillows, pushing back against him, slick and wet and panting. She arched beneath him, moaned as his balls slapped wetly against the back of her thighs. She spread her legs wider, lifting her arse, begging him to go deeper, harder.

He complied.

Fingers tight against the mahogany slats of the headboard, hips slamming angrily into the soft curves under his body, head thrown back, lank strands of jet hair sticking to slick skin, catching in the corner of his mouth...

Snape felt McGonagall tense beneath him, felt her twist and turn with each wild thrust of his hips. He closed his eyes, his body remembering the touch of the boy's skin, the tight warmth of his hole as Snape pounded into him, the whispered sighs and eager moans of his arousal, the musky tang of sweat and semen.

His throat tightened. The emptiness within him crescendoed.

He fucked her harder, shutting out the memories, the images flooding his senses. For this moment it was cock and cunt, hard and soft, yin and yang.

Different.

Different the way he had needed it to be the night his mother died, the night he returned to Dumbledore's fold, the night he prostrated himself once more at the Dark Lord's hem.

He pressed her against the bed, hips pounding against her, his cock thrusting deep into her wet heat. One hand balanced himself against the headboard; the other slid beneath her, fumbling through wet folds of skin, rubbing hard, fast. She arched against him, her frenzied pants echoing in the silence of the room.

A keening cry, and he collapsed on top of her, his fingers still moving between her slick lips. She pushed his hand away, rolled from beneath him and with a sharp gasp, finished herself off.

He lay still, breathing hard, his face squashed against the crumpled cotton pillowcase, hair stuck to one cheek, tickling his eyelid.

McGonagall watched him for a long moment, a fingertip lazily circling her breast. She raised an eyebrow finally. "Better?"

He grunted and sat up. "Perhaps." He reached for his trousers and pulled them on, flinching as her fingers slid down the knobby curve of his back. She dropped her hand with a sigh.

"You may stay, you know, Severus."

He slid a sleeve of his shirt over his arm, buttoning the cuff before he answered. "No, Minerva. I may not." He looked at her at last, his gaze studiously remaining on her face. No lower. "And you know that."

She nodded and watched in silence as he pushed his feet back into his boots. As he reached for the doorknob she sighed. "Severus."

Snape looked back at her, his face schooled into his familiar expressionless mask.

"The bottle of scotch." McGonagall pulled her nightgown over her head, smoothing the folds of flannel over her breasts. "Take it with you." She gave him a rueful smile. "I suspect you'll have greater need of it tonight than I shall."

Snape nodded, paused. "Thank you," he said, his voice tight, controlled. He opened the bedroom door, hesitated again, and looked back. He licked his lip and looked away, staring at the flickering sconce next to the bed. "For everything, Minerva."

She gave him a faint smile. "Yes."

A quick nod, and he shut the door behind him.

He stopped in the sitting room long enough to grab the bottle of Macallan.

He stared down at the ivory label edged in crimson and gold. A small smirk twisted his lips. Appropriate for a Gryffindor. More appropriate that a Slytherin should abscond with it.

He hefted the half-empty bottle in his hand and sighed.

The cold ache filled him once more as the door clicked shut behind him.


End file.
